


Add Brown Sugar, Mix Well

by IncandescentAntelope



Series: Chubby Yuuri Week 2019 [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Cookie Dough, Coping, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Fatphobia, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Stress Baking, lots of fluffy comfort and reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope
Summary: Yuuri can’t sleep when his anxiety gets bad, and he copes with it via cookie dough.





	Add Brown Sugar, Mix Well

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 2 of chubby Yuuri week, the prompt was favorite foods! Yuuri’s favorite food is obviously katsudon, but his favorite baked treat is a recipe he picked up in college <3

The bed dipping with Yuuri’s movement was what woke Viktor the first time. He was a light sleeper, these things usually woke him, and it wasn’t unheard of for Yuuri to slip out of bed at night to use the bathroom. 

The bathroom light flicking off was what woke him the second time. Odd, that he had fallen back asleep in the short space between Yuuri getting up and him coming back to bed. He shrugged it off and waited for Yuuri to slide back into bed, to curl back into his arms. It had been a long day of doing very little, after all, and doing nothing all day is quite tiring when the rest of life is a constant barrage of go, go, go. The bed dipped again and Yuuri’s soft, quiet breaths returned, puffing warm air against Viktor’s nose gently. He smiled and let sleep carry him away again, pulling Yuuri back into his cuddling grasp. 

Yuuri extricating himself from that hold was what woke him the third time. A regular occurrence. Yuuri almost always shrugged himself out of Viktor’s arms in his sleep, and Viktor simply let him go, content to watch him sleep peacefully at his side. He thought nothing of it and dropped back into sleep. 

The cookie pan falling in the kitchen was what woke Viktor the last time. This was no soft, gentle waking, no delicate rubbing of eyes or slow yawning, eyes fluttering open. This was a full start out of bed, sitting bolt upright as the sudden crash nearly had him reaching for the emergency can of pepper spray that Yuuri had insisted was silly. He instinctively reached over for Yuuri, feeling for the warmth of his body, but it was gone, replaced by nothing but sheets, cool to the touch. 

The clock on the bedside table read 04:08, and Viktor scowled at the sight of it, maybe it was wrong and Yuuri had simply woken up before he had. Mornings were still dark in January, of course… perhaps Yuuri was just changing into a morning person like he was. But no, the clock was right, when he checked his phone to corroborate.

How long had Yuuri been gone? 

_Oh._

The kitchen. 

Yuuri had told him about this, the way that anxiety and stress affected his mind and body. It was a tangled ball of twine that needed working out, straightening out. Yuuri lost his ability to sleep when he was anxious, his mind tormenting him with worst-possible-scenarios and replaying the memories that triggered the worst kind of self-doubt. He needed to busy his body when these episodes struck; when he had lived at home in Hasetsu, his outlet had been Ice Castle, to which Yuuko had gladly given him the key. But with Viktor being deemed ‘untrustworthy’ by Yakov after the Locker Room Incident, his key privileges had been revoked. 

Yuuri didn’t have the ice, and Viktor was exceedingly grateful that Yuuri was still unfamiliar with the city enough to know how awful of an idea it was to go for a run outside, in the dead of winter, in Russia. 

Without his regular outlets, Yuuri often turned to things he could do around the apartment, cleaning, folding laundry, reorganizing the linen closet. 

Tonight, it seemed, Yuuri had taken charge of the kitchen, and was in the middle of… well, what looked to be baking a batch of cookies. Viktor approached slowly, having tugged a pair of joggers up over his hips. His joints creaking nearly gave him away, reminding himself that he was closer to thirty than twenty. Yuuri stood at the kitchen island, trying to carefully, silently, bend the dented corner of the cookie tray back into shape, clearly the corner he had dropped it on. Makkachin looked on with interest, her eyes flicking between the pan, Yuuri, and the bowl of cookie dough on the countertop. 

It was difficult to see from this distance, especially when Viktor’s eyes were weak with sleep, but he could swear Yuuri’s eyes were red, his cheeks just slightly wet. _Had he been crying?_ Viktor thought to himself as he watched on, slowly getting closer. A sudden jolt of movement nearly startled him, Yuuri shoving the pan aside in frustration, a wet sob slipping out into the dim air around them. 

Yuuri grit his teeth and forced back another sob. God, how weak was he? He couldn’t manage a single day without fucking something up, the dark, growling voice in his ear snarled at him. First he had given Makkachin too much food at breakfast yesterday, and Viktor had scolded him, and now, he dropped a cookie pan, denting it and leaving a mark in the linoleum. 

_“K-kuso…”_ Yuuri choked out, wrapping his arms around himself and heaving dry over the sink. He hated the way his hands sank into the pudge around his belly, the extra weight on his hips. He had no self control,so much so that instead of _sleeping_, he was baking cookies. At four in the morning, he was baking cookies and _crying_ in the kitchen. 

He turned back to the counter, seeing the nearly overturned bowl of cookie dough, sitting, half-mixed. He had stopped halfway through, realizing he’d forgotten the chocolate chips. He’d forgotten one of the most important parts of his own damn recipe. The one he had fallen in love with in Detroit, when a classmate gave it to him during his sophomore year. He had tweaked it slightly, to suit his tastes, with extra chocolate chips and butter. These were his favorite cookies, the dessert he had always baked when the anxiety threatened to overwhelm him. 

_“So incompetent, can’t even follow your own recipe right.”_ Yuuri muttered in Japanese, picking the bowl back up and digging out a big bite of the unfinished dough, and his stomach growled appreciatively, despite the mouthful of unmixed salt and flour he had just swallowed. _“Yeah, yeah, you’ll love anything I stuff in you, won’t you?”_ he heard himself say, repeating the icy words Yurio had spat at him at a team gathering the other day. Earlier he had been able to brush it off as a child’s angst, but not anymore, not when that was so clearly the truth.

“It’s no wonder Viktor can’t stand you,” his self-doubt rumbled again, “A stupid little _piglet_ like you, that can hardly keep his hands out of his mouth?” the voice had always been an amorphous, unknowable sound, as melodious as nails on a chalkboard, but something in the tone of it shifted as it spoke. “Look at you, _disgusting,”_ it snarled, and Yuuri recognized the voice. 

It was Viktor’s voice. 

The voice of his fiance, his coach, the man who had given up his entire career to coach a fat little piglet like him. He hadn’t even won the Grand Prix Final, he had taken silver, and on top of that, gained all this extra weight in the tiny gap of an off-season he was allowed. God, he was such a joke. Yuuri should have just retired after Sochi, then Viktor never would have ruined his career. 

The tears flowed freely then, streaming down his cheeks in hot stripes around his nose and in the curves of his smile lines. 

“Chocolate chips…” he mumbled, turning back to Viktor’s freshly stocked baking cabinet, a full bag of chocolate chips tucked behind the vanilla extract and baking soda. How he had missed them was beyond him, but he nearly sent the bottle of vanilla toppling to the ground when the tears blurred his vision around the edges. 

The bag hadn’t even been opened yet, and when he gripped the bag to do so, it split at the plastic seam, spilling nearly every semi-sweet chocolate drop to the kitchen floor. With a frustrated cry, Yuuri fell to his knees and began sweeping up the spilled morsels into his hand and throwing them away, wasting what would have been perfectly fine baking material by being clumsy and impatient. 

Around half the bag was salvageable, he would just need to put the remaining chips in a different bag, but god, had he fucked this up. First the cookie tray, now wasting both Viktor’s food and money… he groaned and stood back up, moving to throw away the last handful of chocolate, pausing to lean over the counter and take another bite of the poorly-mixed dough. 

He had forgotten the brown sugar too. He hadn't seen it in the cabinet.

_“Kuso!”_ he sobbed again. _“I'm useless."_

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice was soft behind him, and Yuuri recoiled from the sound of it. He didn’t want to hear more from that voice in his head, he couldn’t. He already knew what a failure he was, what an utter disappointment he had become. “Yuuri… please, what’s going on? Can you tell me?” Viktor’s voice said again, and a soft warmth pressed against his back. Long, lanky arms wrapped around his middle and held him fast.

Viktor. The real Viktor.

"Do you want me to help with your cookies?” Viktor asked softly, having spotted the bowl on the counter, the flour spilled on the marble countertop. Stress baking. Yuuri had told him about this habit of his, picked up in college during finals. “I can mix up the dough, if you’d like, love. Or while you do that, I could make you something to eat?" he offered, knowing Yuuri had quite unenthusiastically eaten half of his dinner that night. He should have seen this coming, in all honesty. Yuuri had been quiet and withdrawn nearly all night, and paired with his mostly empty stomach, it was no wonder Yuuri was feeling anxious. But what about, Viktor didn’t have the slightest clue.

"There isn't any brown sugar… I need it for my cookies, Vitya, they won't be right without it-" Yuuri began, moving to pull out of Viktor’s grasp. “Please, let me go, I need to go to the store,”

"Yuuri, stop, breathe with me?” Viktor said, holding tight. “In, count to four, hold, count to seven, out, count to eight. Can you do that for me?” he instructed, remembering the article on breathing exercises Yuuri had sent him last week. Turning his focus inward, to his breathing, usually helped to mitigate the discomfort, the clenching tightness in his chest that accompanied his anxiety.

“I’m… Vitya, I’m sorry I woke you, just… go back to bed,” Yuuri began, trying to control the shaking in his voice as he tried to convince Vitkor that he was fine. He didn’t need to drag Viktor into yet another one of his panic attacks. He’d been told by others that he was exhausting, his symptoms and their consequences difficult to deal with day in, day out. 

“No, I’m going to stay right here, and you’re going to do your breathing for me for a few minutes.” Viktor said firmly, not relenting his grip. “I know something’s on your mind, Yuuri. I understand if you don’t want to talk, you’re the only one who can make you share what’s on your mind. But I do want you to know that I’m here.” Viktor’s voice was soft and careful, not condescending or pitying.

It was just Viktor. Tears choked Yuuri again, making any kind of _real_ communication difficult, but Yuuri did what he could to tell him to stay, by turning in his grasp and burying his face in Viktor’s bare shoulder, taking short, gasping breaths between the wet sniffling and ugly sobs. 

“It’s alright, Yuura.” Viktor hummed, stroking his back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” he spoke softly, in gentle repetition as Yuuri cried, his tears and nose wetting his skin, but he couldn’t be upset with him. Not for this. 

They stood there in the dim, still-dark morning until Yuuri felt his arms start to tingle with disuse, folded awkwardly between his chest and Viktor’s. He pulled away slightly, just enough to look up into Viktor’s eyes, where they waited, sparkling and blue, for Yuuri to return to him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Viktor asked softly, leaning down and kissing his forehead, smoothing the shaggy bangs out of Yuuri’s eyes. “I’m here if you do, I understand if you don’t.” 

How had Yuuri been so lucky as to fall into Viktor’s orbit? 

Yuuri shrugged, unsure of where to start. “I… can we finish the cookies together first? And then talk about it?”

Viktor nodded and cupped his cheek, lifting his chin to meet his eyes again. “Of course, Yuura.” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I have a bag of brown sugar in the pantry. Let me go get it for you, okay?” Yuuri nodded and took a long, shaky breath as Viktor ducked into the small closet next to the refrigerator, pulling out a large bag of brown sugar, unopened. “I’ll open this for you, is that okay?” Viktor hummed, setting the bag on the countertop. 

Yuuri nodded wordlessly, handing him the measuring cup. “140 grams,” he mumbled, watching as Viktor carefully opened the bag and dipped the cup in. 

“140 grams for you, Yuura. Do you want me to pour it in too?” he asked quietly, setting the cup down. 

“Oh, um… no, I can do that part.” Yuuri answered, pulling the cup toward himself and patting down the sugar. “‘S gotta be packed down…” he muttered, and Viktor saw that he needed a little bit more of the sugar added to the cup. 

“Here, _zolotse_, let’s fill that up a little more.” he said, lifting the bag and shaking it gently, letting more sugar fall into the cup, and Yuuri packed it down to be _just_ enough. “Why don’t you give it a taste, love, just to make sure it’s perfect.” Viktor added, handing Yuuri a tea spoon from the silverware drawer at his hip.

Yuuri stared at the implement carefully, then back up to Viktor’s face. “Are you sure? I… this is just straight sugar, Vitya…” he protested, but Viktor dipped the spoon in on his behalf, lifting it to his lips. 

“I’m sure. Just a little taste.” Viktor said, winking coyly at him. “Go on, Yuura. A little sweetness for my sweetheart?” Yuuri giggled then, rolling his eyes and closing his lips around the spoon. Viktor felt like dancing, seeing that small smile reappear on Yuuri’s cheeks. 

“That was a terrible joke.” Yuuri said after he swallowed the small bite of raw sugar, the sweet molasses flavor of it lingering on his tongue. 

“Mmm, but it made my Yuuri smile.” Viktor replied, setting the spoon aside for later. “Now, how much chocolate do we need to add?” he asked, reaching for the ripped, half-empty bag on the counter. Yuuri relayed the amount and watched as Viktor, his Vitya, poured in two handfuls of chocolate chips, along with the brown sugar, and began mixing. Leaned against the countertop, Viktor looked like every domestic fantasy Yuuri had indulged in before now. It was embarrassing really, that in his college days he had imagined Viktor Nikiforov baking him treats, cooking him meals… feeding him, even. And now that he was here, living in Russia with him, in the apartment he had only ever seen before on Instagram, he almost couldn’t believe it. It was such a massive change, and in such a short amount of time, that often regaling the tale of it to friends made him feel dizzy. 

But he was here, with Viktor, in his apartment. At four in the morning, baking cookies. And Viktor Nikiforov was mixing his cookie dough. His bicep flexed as he worked, the silver bowl in sharp contrast to the pale ivory of his chest. That chest, which Yuuri had explored and come to know almost as thoroughly as he knew his own body. 

Viktor chuckled at the unsubtle staring from his brown-eyed fiance. “Yuuuuu-ri~” he said in his playful, sing-song voice. “You’re staring…” 

Yuuri flushed bright red and met his eye, looking away from his muscles, away from the cookie dough. “It’s kinda hard not to. You’re… you.” Yuuri said, blushing even deeper when Viktor laughed. He paused in his mixing, scooping out a bite with his rubber spatula. 

“My lovely taste-tester, would you mind trying this for me?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri was grateful for the way he didn’t linger on the staring thing. Yuuri nodded and sidled up beside Viktor, letting his lips part as Viktor lifted the spatula to his mouth. “It smells yummy, but I know this is your recipe, I’d hate to get it wrong and disappoint you.” he added with a wink. 

Yuuri giggled as he wrapped his lips around the spatula, moaning at the perfect balance of ingredients on his tongue. It was a thousand times better than it had been before, when he was working on his own. “‘S really good,” he replied after swallowing, covering his mouth with his hand as he spoke, in an effort to not be rude. Viktor’s words weighed heavy on his heart; how Viktor thought he could ever disappoint him was so far beyond him he wouldn’t be able to see it with binoculars. “You’d never disappoint me, Viktor…” he said, his lips curling downward in a small frown. 

Viktor hummed thoughtfully at Yuuri’s slight change in mood again, simply scooping him up another bite of the dough. He knew the warnings about raw egg being deemed ‘dangerous’ by the US, but Yuuri often ate raw foods, and that included eggs. 

“Yuuri…” Viktor began, making sure Yuuri cleaned the spatula off completely before asking the question, so he could have a moment to consider his answer before giving him the usual dismissal of ‘I don’t know’. “Yuuri, if you’re so sure I could never disappoint you, why are you so determined that I think the same way about you?” 

Yuuri blinked at him for a moment, confused by the question, and with his mouth full of cookie dough, he couldn’t quite ask for elaboration. Viktor met his gaze in return with such crippling sincerity Yuuri nearly couldn’t stand it. 

“That thought, that I’m disappointed in you, Yuuri, is completely untrue.” Viktor continued speaking when it seemed Yuuri was confused by the concept of it. The haze of his anxiety made things difficult to understand sometimes, and Viktor understood that. “I will _never_ be disappointed in you, Yuuri, unless I _know_ you can do better. And in those cases, I’ll be right here to help you get there, to that point where you’re as proud of yourself as I’m proud of you.”

Yuuri’s mouth opened and shut, but as hard as he tried, no words came out. Nothing seemed right. Instead, his eyes fell on the cookie dough again and Viktor smiled, giving him another bite of it. Even without words, Viktor knew what he needed. He met him right where he was. That hadn’t always been the case, of course, Viktor had a steep learning curve to surmount when he first dropped into Yuuri’s life. But with practice and time, Viktor understood. Sometimes better than Yuuri did, if he was honest. Viktor set the bowl aside for the moment and pulled Yuuri into his arms, humming contently at the press of Yuuri’s soft sleep shirt against his skin.

“Because I _am_ proud of you, Yuura. My Yuuri. My shining star, _zvezda moya_ . My Grand Prix final silver medalist, my Japanese Nationals gold medalist… my competition for Worlds’ in March…” Viktor lavished praise on him endlessly, holding him close and running his fingertips along the line of his spine, from the small of his back to the base of his skull, where he splayed his fingers into that inky black, shaggy head of hair. “But most importantly, you are my Yuuri. My fiance. The love of my life. The man to give me my two L’s back. My everything.” Viktor pressed a kiss to the soft divot of Yuuri’s temple. 

“V-Viktor…” Yuuri mumbled against his chest, sniffling gently as tears threatened to spill again. “I… thank you. Th-thank you so much,” he stuttered as he began to cry again. “You’re too good to me, ‘m just a fat little piggy, I just… I don’t deserve you, I don’t--”

Viktor put an immediate stop to those words, pressing a slender finger to the middle of his lips. “Yuuri, you do. I will not hear an argument from you on that. You deserve so much more than I am able to give you for all of the incredible good you have done for me. You danced your way into my life half-naked and soaked in champagne, and I will never, ever be the same.” 

Yuuri let out another wet sob as an impossible weight was lifted from his shoulders; Viktor’s words washed over him warm and smooth like honey, and god, he never wanted to let go. 

“As for the fat little piggy, part, Yuuri,” Viktor said, his tone quiet but serious. “I hope I never hear you say that about yourself in a hateful way again. I hope you never _think_ that about yourself in a hateful way again.” 

Yuuri’s voice caught in his throat, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably. “I… I’m sorry, Viktor, I just… I’ve gained so much weight since Nationals…” Yuuri mumbled into his chest, wincing as Viktor’s hands smoothed down his back and over his hips, feeling the soft give of his skin, the extra layer of squishy fat that had accumulated there with all the celebrating they had done for his gold, and the subsequent pattern of relaxation and bored snacking he had partaken in. “You said it yourself back then, you called me _kobuta-chan_.” Yuuri said, remembering the day well. 

Viktor sighed softly. “Have you been holding that in all this time, Yuuri?” he asked, his voice careful, gentle, like he worried Yuuri would blow away like dust in his hands with too strong an exhale. “I hope I have never done anything to call attention to your insecurities in a cruel way, Yuuri… have I hurt you with that nickname?”

Yuuri swallowed and shook his head. The shock of it had hurt the most, when their relationship was still so new and tentative, and to hear it from his idol at such a difficult phase of his career… “No, I mean, it did, but… I haven’t been, y’know, holding it against you or anything…” Yuuri stumbled through his explanation of the feelings. After the first few times Viktor had called him the name it had become more of a teasing pet name than a comment on his weight. It didn’t sting at all, when Viktor called him that now, but something about the current situation he had found himself in, the stress-eating, the lack of sleep, the words Yuri had spat at him a few days ago… it had all just caught up to him. 

“Yuura?” Viktor called him back to center, back to the moment with him. “Are you here with me?” he asked gently, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s forehead again. 

“I’m here.” Yuuri replied simply, focusing on that centering touch, the press of Viktor’s soft, sweet lips against his skin. 

“Okay, Yuuri. I’m here too. I can stop calling you that name if you want. If it hurts you, I don’t want to call you by that name.” Viktor said, reaching behind Yuuri again and lifting out a small dollop of cookie dough with his fingers, offering it to Yuuri. 

“No, you… you can still call me that. I think I just let the anxious thoughts get to me.” Yuuri said, eyeing the bite of cookie dough on Viktor’s fingers. “I’m… I’m not a fat little piglet,” he said, licking his lips before going in for the bite, licking Viktor’s fingers completely clean. “But I’ll be _your_ little piglet, Vitya.” Yuuri finished his sentence when he swallowed the sweet morsel. 

“I’d be happy to know you as my sweet little _kobuta-chan_, Yuuri.” Viktor said with a smile and the mounting tension growing between his shoulder blades released. “I hope you know that I don’t mind your body changing like this,” he adds, letting his hands drop to the silky flesh of Yuuri’s belly, his lean, competition-shape abdomen had been made soft with a month of pampering and relaxing his diet’s stringent rules. “I enjoy it, in fact. It’s… it’s part of the reward of watching you work so hard. You work yourself so hard all season, and a gold medal is more than deserving of spoiling you completely rotten, _zolotse_.” 

Yuuri giggled at the soft, fleeting touch of Viktor’s hands, and for the first time in quite a while, he didn’t bat his hands away from his stomach. Something still lurked in the murky dark of his mind, tapping at the window to remind Yuuri it was there. “So you don’t regret taking a season away just to coach me, Vitya?” Yuuri asked, hoping to settle that last lingering thread of discomfort in his mind. “You don’t… resent me for it?”

Viktor’s hands stilled in their gentle touches and fled back north to Yuuri’s flushed cheeks, which he cupped softly in his hands. “I will _never_ regret the season I took away to be with you, to coach you, Katsuki Yuuri.” Viktor said in that low, affirming tone. “Never once in my life will I look back on last season and regret what I did. I fell in love with you, and I fell in love with skating again. I thought I had lost my inspiration, my purpose, my cause for life on this Earth. Until you showed me yours.” Viktor held his cheeks between his hands and blinked his watery, tropical island blue eyes into Yuuri’s own. “You showed me what it was like to skate with purpose, to skate with life in your eyes and love in your heart. I don’t see how I could ever resent you for giving me something so impossibly precious as that, Yuuri.”

There was that sincerity again, and Yuuri could almost _hear_ the walls of lies he had built around himself crumbling with the warmth radiating from Viktor’s smile alone. He buried himself in Viktor’s chest again, settling into the sensation of being held, of simultaneously feeling light enough to float away, and anchored to the moment by the weight of Viktor’s arms.

“O… okay, Vitya.” Yuuri nodded, grabbing hold of that thought and tucking it away in his mind to recall later, when he was standing in front of the mirror and bemoaning how quickly he gained, or how much he felt like a bloated mess. Viktor didn’t hate him for gaining weight. He didn’t hate him for stealing him away from the skating world. He thanked him for it.

He met him right where he was. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how long they stood there, Makkachin having long since lost interest in the slow, easy swaying rhythm their bodies fell into. But he did know that at some point, the sun had begun to tint the sky a pale violet in the east, and the milk on the counter was more than certainly getting too warm. Yuuri laughed tiredly and pulled away from his fiance’s arms, who looked to be nearly asleep on his feet. Stowing the milk and the other previously refrigerated ingredients in the fridge, he turned to the bowl of cookie dough still waiting on the counter. 

“Well, Vitya, why don’t we get those cookies in the oven?” he asked, pulling out the dented cookie tray and laying down a sheet of wax paper, pausing halfway through to yawn languidly, which, of course, made Viktor yawn as well.

Viktor laid his hand over Yuuri’s. “How about, instead,” Victor clumsily wrapped the bowl of dough in cling wrap and put it in the refrigerator, “You and I go back to bed, and we’ll bake the cookies when we wake up?”

Yuuri yawned again, deciding that was for the best. “Okay. But I want cookies for breakfast.” Yuuri insisted before devolving into another yawn. 

“That’s fair.” Viktor mumbled, turning off the light in the kitchen and taking Yuuri by the hand. “Come to bed with me, and I promise you can have cookies for breakfast.”

Yuuri laughed sleepily and followed Viktor to bed, all but collapsing into it bonelessly; he curled into Viktor’s touch and stayed there until morning burst through the curtains of their bedroom, sleeping soundly and heavily, held closely to Viktor’s chest and wrapped up in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ❤️ I hope you enjoyed! Leave kudos and a comment if you did! I'd really appreciate the love. See you all tomorrow for day three!
> 
> Chubby Yuuri Week Links  
[Tumblr ](https://chubbyyuuriweek.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chubbyyuuriweek)
> 
> ❤️ IA ❤️  
[Tumblr](https://incandescentantelope.tumblr.com) | [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/IAtheAuthor)


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